


Prowl

by Snegurochka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-07
Updated: 2010-09-07
Packaged: 2017-10-14 12:38:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snegurochka/pseuds/Snegurochka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do you ever tell her you only go out with me because I'm supposed to be the safe one, because you can hide behind the excuse that it's your <i>brother</i> you're half naked with, sweating and prowling around a dance club, trying not to admit this is the only place we can look at each other like this and no one'll care?" Charlie's fingers curled around Bill's hip. "Because if you <i>don't</i> tell her any of that, you're a liar. This ends tonight."</p><p>2,700 words. Bill/Charlie PWP. NC-17. Incest & infidelity. September 2010.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prowl

"Don't tell me you haven't thought about it." The strobe lighting pounded at the edges of Charlie's vision, heavy bass music making his bones shudder and his heart race.

"Don't tell me you _have_." Bill was trying for anger, outrage even, Charlie could tell. He was failing, though, and Charlie was bloody well going to push it this time. He always went home alone after he and Bill had spent the night prowling around that club, t-shirts hanging from their back pockets as they knocked back whisky and turned down offers from the pretty and the eager who hovered around the edges of the room. He'd gone home alone, sweaty and hard, and wanked himself till he saw stars, far too many times to count.

He wasn't fucking doing that one more time.

Tonight, he was going to get what he wanted.

Pressing his palm flat to Bill's chest, he moved in closer, breathing Bill in and daring to take that one last step that would pin him against the wall. His stubble brushed Bill's cheek, and Charlie breathed a heated whisper against his ear. "Of course I have."

He could afford to do this, taking the lead for once and shoving Bill up against the filthy back wall. He could afford to do it because Bill _wanted_ it – that much was obvious from the way his hips were tilting and his gaze hadn't left Charlie's mouth.

Bill didn't respond right away, not in words. But a hot puff of air left his mouth and he didn't push Charlie away, and Charlie knew his brother well enough by now to take the latter, at least, as consent. He pressed it even more.

"I've thought about doing every filthy thing to you that the fucking bartender already thinks we're doing." His fingers inched up Bill's chest, grabbing at his t-shirt while his other hand toyed with the seam at the pocket of Bill's jeans. "You heard what he said to me; I know you did. Quit pretending you're too straight to notice blokes like that." He mouthed a bite against Bill's neck.

That almost got him shoved back on his arse – finally. Bill pushed him an arm's length away, but one fist stayed clenched in Charlie's shirt. "I heard him," he muttered, and Charlie held himself still, waiting for Bill's next move. "The motherfucker. Flirting with you." Bill's eyes turned fierce before he looked away, releasing Charlie at last.

"Jealous?" Charlie smirked.

"Brotherly concern," Bill shot back, not missing a beat.

Charlie stepped forward again. "He wasn't flirting," he murmured, his fingers curling into the waist of Bill's jeans. His knuckles swept over the dusting of hair on Bill's abdomen as he did it, and Bill clenched his jaw and breathed deeply through his nose. "He knew he wouldn't stand a chance with me, not with you standing there." He leaned in close to Bill's ear again. "My big bad boyfriend with the earring and the muscle shirt, ready to rip his face off if he made a move on me."

Bill grabbed his shirt again, but if he meant to shove Charlie away, he went the wrong direction. Charlie held his breath as Bill hauled him forward, crushing him to Bill's chest with only Bill's angry fist between them. Charlie's grip on the edge of Bill's jeans intensified, and he flicked his thumb over the top button. "Not your boyfriend," whispered Bill, barely getting the words out. A bead of sweat dangled down the side of his face. "Don't do this, Charlie. You know I can't play it like that."

"No, I don't. And you want to _try_ playing it like that. I know you do, or you wouldn't even fucking be here."

"Charlie."

"Just beers at the pub, yeah, is that what you told her?" Charlie's fingers finally got Bill's button open, and he reached into Bill's jeans without preamble. He found damp skin and heat that spread up his arm, his fingers tingling as they gripped Bill's cock.

Bill's face shuttered and he sucked in a sharp breath.

"Is that what you tell her every night we go out? Do you tell her you come to the clubs with me so you can take your shirt off and pretend you're too fucking good for the slags they let in?" Charlie twisted his wrist, wrenching streaks of pleasure from Bill's body. "Do you tell her about those nights when you get off your face with whisky just to forget how much you want to fuck me in front of a bar full of pretty club boys?"

"Don't talk about her," warned Bill, even as he pushed up into Charlie's hand.

But Charlie wasn't finished. "Do you ever tell her you only go out with me because I'm supposed to be the safe one, because you can hide behind the excuse that it's your _brother_ you're half naked with, sweating and prowling around a dance club, trying not to admit this is the only place we can look at each other like we do and no one'll give a shit?" His fingers curled around Bill's balls. "Because if you _don't_ tell her any of that, you're a fucking liar. This ends tonight."

Charlie wasn't sure what he intended to do – drop to his knees, whirl around and push his arse back, whatever – but maybe it didn't matter. "You don't decide that," Bill growled in his ear, pulling Charlie's hand from his jeans and reversing their positions. He shoved Charlie hard against the wall, the rough surface digging into his back and the grime of the floor anchoring his boots. "You don't decide what I tell my wife or not; you don't decide where I go and what I do there; and you don't fucking decide, Charlie–" he drew out the name, low and rough – "when this ends. _I_ decide, you fucking prick."

Charlie swallowed down a shout of triumph. Fuck yes. He reached down and grabbed the hem of his t-shirt, hauling it over his head.

God, and it was all because that bartender had winked at him, taking Charlie's order and then leaning in to ask what his boyfriend was having, because no one in their right mind ever brought their _brother_ to a place like this. Everything about the club bled sex, from the hard bodies pressed together on the dance floor to the moans drifting over from the back corridors. They'd known it the first time they'd come here, the seventh time, and they knew it tonight.

Bill had pretended he hadn't heard, but that was just more of the denials and lies, because Charlie had seen the way Bill's body had tensed at the bartender's words, his fingers clenched into his bicep where his arms were folded over his chest. He'd taken the whisky Charlie had handed him and downed it in one go, his eyes on the bartender the entire time even as Bill had slung his free arm around Charlie's shoulders and hauled him in tight.

"Go on, then," murmured Charlie now, the heat of the club snaking over him and the close air making him dizzy.

Bill's mouth was on his in a flash, with firm, steady hands landing on either side of Charlie's face. Bill parted his lips and deepened the kiss almost instantly, not waiting for any slow burn romance to kick in.

Charlie grunted against his mouth, pushing his tongue against Bill's and clasping the thick fingers of each hand around Bill's forearms. With Bill's palms over his ears, Charlie heard only the hot rush of air, the screech of the club fading into the distance as the steady thrum of static pressed on him like a seashell hollowing him from the inside out. Bill tasted better than Charlie had ever fucking imagined. "God, come here," he breathed, clawing at Bill's shirt until he ripped the front open, the torn edges framing Bill's chest.

Bill bit at Charlie's lips and growled, bright and frantic and enveloping Charlie in a shroud of desire. He'd been _right_ , dammit. He knew Bill wanted this, just as much as Charlie did.

"Of course I'm a fucking liar," Bill was muttering, his face buried in Charlie's neck as his hips ground in tight against Charlie's. "How am I supposed to tell her I want _this_?"

Yeah. That was exactly the fucking problem. Charlie grabbed Bill's shoulders and made fists in the remnants of his shirt.

"You think I can tell her," Bill continued in a raw whisper, "that I've wanted to rip the balls off every bloke I've seen you with since you were eighteen? That I went with you to get your ink just so I could see what you look like spread out over a table with your shirt off? That the reason I go home and fuck her like a beast after we've been out is from watching you with your shirt open and your hands in your back pockets, working this place like a fucking rent boy?"

Charlie groaned. Bill was going to change his mind if he continued on with thoughts like these; Charlie was sure of it. He kept his arms locked tight around him, the bulge in his jeans pressed into Bill's and his heartbeat strong against Bill's chest.

But Bill didn't change his mind. He broke free of Charlie's grip and whirled him around, lodging his forearm over Charlie's shoulder blades and mashing his cheek against the wall. "Charlie," moaned Bill, his mouth hot over Charlie's back. " _Stop me_."

But Charlie only shook his head, reaching one hand back to curl around Bill's neck and pull him in closer, until Bill's teeth were skimming over the inked skin of Charlie's back. When he dropped his hand down again, he made quick work of his jeans, shoving them down his thighs while Bill did the same to his. "Too slow," he grunted, leaning his forehead into one arm. Then he felt Bill's fingers light over the curve of his arse, and Charlie sucked in a breath.

"Stop me," Bill murmured again.

"Nobody here knows us," Charlie muttered into the wall. "This is your only fucking chance, so take it. Christ. You need a handwritten invitation? A fucking road map?"

That got him a rough shove, two fingers stabbing into him without warning, and Charlie's mouth dissolved into an _O_. But then there was lube, starting inside him and seeping out, and fuck, Bill had done the spell _while_ his fingers were inside, and Charlie couldn't even begin to process where he might have learned magic like that.

"You slag," he murmured, panting. "You've done this before."

Bill leaned in close to Charlie's ear. "Yeah."

And Charlie had not actually known that, and the feel of Bill's fingers moving inside him and Bill's mouth hot over his neck and Bill's body crowding him like this was nearly enough to do him in. "Rougher," he said, exhaling the word in a puff. "I need–"

Bill's groan cut him off, and Charlie clawed at the chipped tiles on the wall as the thick head of Bill's cock shoved inside him, too deep and too sudden, burning him from the inside out. Charlie clenched his jaw and grunted, his muscles tense in his shoulders, arms and thighs even as he tried to relax everywhere else. "Like that?" Bill whispered. He withdrew and pushed back in, deeper this time, and Charlie's breath caught in his throat.

He hoped that bartender was watching and getting off on this. He hoped every bloke they'd ever turned down was watching – the blond with the Snitch tattoo on his bicep, the darker one with the chains around his wrists and nipples, the lean one with the hairless chest and the too-tight trousers; Charlie remembered every single bloke in this place who had ever had his eyes on Bill. He hoped they were off in the dark corners, the bass bleeding through their skulls, fisting their cocks and watching Charlie getting rammed by his tall, aloof boyfriend, the one who never usually touched him when they were here, never kissed him, and never, _ever_ let himself get so out of control that he just had to fuck Charlie blind against the back wall.

Bill's hands snaked around Charlie's chest and stomach, hauling him back onto Bill's cock and pressing tiny bruises into Charlie's skin. Bill's breath was still hot at Charlie's ear, murmuring wisps of desires Charlie could barely make out.

"Bill," Charlie choked out. "God."

Bill's fist closed around Charlie's prick, and Charlie gave a rough shout into the wall, unable to breathe for a moment. Bill dragged his palm over Charlie's heated flesh over and over again, damp and tight and so good, so fucking good.

"Come on," he gasped. "Come on." His orgasm rolled over him so suddenly his knees nearly gave out. With a shout, he slammed his open palm into the wall and came hard over Bill's fist, his thighs shaking and his spine on fire. "Fuck. _Fuck_."

Bill was ruthless, spreading the mess around his hand and down over Charlie's balls, massaging him too roughly. He closed his teeth over Charlie's shoulder again and scraped the skin, breathing hard. His hips snapped forward, and Charlie could feel every inch of him each time he slid inside, too thick for Charlie's spasming body but delicious in his brutality. "You still want to play boyfriends, you dirty slut?"

The words crashed over Charlie unexpectedly, and he felt a new spasm rip through him. " _Bill_ ," he gasped, and then Bill's hands were clenching against his hips and Bill's cock was jerking inside him and Bill's body was shuddering behind him. Hot, filthy wetness seeped inside him as his body absorbed Bill's pulses, and Bill didn't move, not for a long time; he ground his hips slowly against Charlie's arse, pumping in soft, rhythmic motions even as his come began to slide out around his softening dick.

" _God_ ," moaned Bill at last, dropping his head to Charlie's shoulder. "Charlie, I can't–"

"Shut the fuck up," warned Charlie, not turning around. "I swear to God, if you say one fucking thing to ruin this..."

The pulsing rhythm of the club crowded in around Charlie again, and he couldn't make out anything Bill's lips were saying against his shoulder, except maybe, " _It's already ruined_ ," but Charlie ignored that, he had to, because there was no other way.

"Fancy meeting you here. Thanks for the fuck. Et cetera." Charlie forced himself to stand up straight and haul his jeans back up. At Bill's stricken look, he rolled his eyes. "That's what I'd say if you were a random bloke I'd met here and just shagged against a wall, isn't it?"

"I– yeah." Bill swallowed, wiping his palm on the thigh of his jeans and then zipping them. He glanced down at his ripped shirt and a look of annoyance passed over his face. He murmured a few words and smoothed it with his hand, and the tear mended itself. "So that's what I–"

"Yeah." Charlie cut him off, because Christ, how could he not see? "That's what you are." He dropped his gaze, taking in a shuddering breath. When he looked up again, Bill was already two paces away, his jaw set and his gaze off to the side. "You have to be," Charlie added softly.

That made Bill look at him again. After a long moment, Bill pressed his lips together and nodded. Without another word, he turned on his heel and made his way through the crowd. If Charlie hadn't known better, Bill might even have passed himself off as just any bloke sauntering through, nodding at the pretty ones and out for a good time.

Charlie wiped his hand over his mouth to steady himself, focusing on making it to the door in one piece. The violet lighting flashed across his skin, and the insistent thump of the bass followed him like a shadow. _This ends tonight_. That was what he'd said.

He headed for home, his footsteps bleak on the dark pavement.

 

-fin-


End file.
